Setbacks

A week ago my dad left to Jamaica to oversee some work on the house that him and my momma are building. When I went to Jamaica a couple months ago, the house was well underway, taking shape, and evolving into what my parents envisioned, my dad especially. Early Friday morning my dad calls my mom and says that 25-30 bags of cement has been stolen from the foyer part of the house. My mom was of course devastated because they've both been putting a lot of money into the house. We don't know if it's one of the construction workers who tipped off the thieves, or if the thieves are one of the workers, or if they saw the materials when they were being unloaded. These men came during the night. When my dad and his family heard the ruckus when they were driving off, they signaled folks in the neighborhood to block the roads, but the thrives ended up taking a different route.

If all of that stress wasn't enough, the thieves came back last night hoping to steal more of the bags of cement. All the dogs in the neighborhood started barking and everyone woke up. Luckily, my dad boarded up the storage area this time. These thieves are determined. It's especially scary because my family's home house is literally a yard across from the construction site. These people are brazen and it's disgusting to think folks are willing to steal from their community.

My family is from a rural area and police is twenty five minutes away if you drive fast. Consequentially, folks are left to fend for themselves a lot. Thefts and robberies are nothing new to any part of Jamaica. Some of my people are downright violent. I pray that my dad stays safe and comes home soon. I've been trying to keep my mom calm because the slightest unwanted news sends her into a worrying frenzy, her blood pressure gets dangerously high and it's downhill from there. Im praying that God watches over my family, that the materials will be put to use quick, and everyone remains safe.

Summertime

I miss you with a fierceness that cannot be explained. I miss having conversations for a whole day. I miss getting a couple hours of sleep between 1-3 a.m., seeing his text message(s) and texting him to see if he was still up, and then going back to sleep stubbornly. I miss waking up for work at 6:45 a.m. and having all the energy in the world. I miss older women asking me for fashion advice in the skinny jeans section of the store. I miss smiling all the time and having people ask about me because of it. I miss chillin’ on my roof for hours, eyes low, the sun burning my skin, and sweat forming at the crease where my arm meets my forearm. I miss the sun illuminating my legs for the first time; finding beauty marks I never knew existed. I miss meeting new people. I miss lunches at P. F. Chang’s with my homegirl. I miss having conversations with her where I would trade breasts with her in return for some “Ms Fat Booty” ass. I miss going for jogs in the historic neighborhood. I miss feeling the beat of music pulsating through my temples. I miss being in Jamaica and talking to all the people I grew up with. I miss the trees, air, food, attitude, beaches, weed tea, beauty, and most of all, my family.

Dear Summer, you were so good to me. I feel like I haven’t properly addressed you yet. I miss you because it was the first time my mental age was reflected through my physical self. I learned that it was okay to get into some shenanigans. It was the first time I truly lived. I pushed buttons, and almost crossed the line, but I won’t take any of it back because that’s when I was happiest. And now, it’s cold. December winds and rain don’t conjure up the same sentiments I had for you, Summer. And I’m left asking myself: Am I the only one who feels this way? Your ultraviolet rays did something to me.

Dear Summer, I miss you, you’re coming back, right?